Barring it all..

Chandi bar, dance bar, pauwa bar, hospital, burning ghat and the chicken stall - a post inspired by Opu's Tempting Conversations. Finally watched Chandi Bar. But this is not a review of the film. The reason for my post is about my experience in such a dance bar. Truly epiphanic and profound.

While on an office trip to Mumbai some friends invited me to accost them to a dance bar. For me it was a once in a lifetime thing. Whatever esoteric reasons I give, my intentions would obviously be questioned hence I will not make the effort. So we landed up in a bar called Talash in Bandra. I was told this was among the sophisticated ones that were around. We chose to go to the deluxe lounge and suddenly I found myself inside a D factory film.

Blaring music in a room completely mirrored on all sides. The floor littered with currencies and some waiters picking them up one by one. The clientele was varied. One could mistake it with any ordinary restaurant in Mumbai. From the typical district collector look to the variety D factory showcases - the underworld types, the Marwari/Sindhi business looks and ofcourse the khadi-kurta gandhi cap corporator look. In our little way we too were adding to the variety. It seemed the entire male diaspora of India was in full strength.

And then there were the women - of all kinds, of all ages, for all classes, for all tastes. There were the over the top aunties whose stock in the trade had diminished. And there were the upcoming stars to whom even someone as refined as me (am I not?? why cant refined men go to dance bars?) could easily take a liking. Unfortunately these types were much in demand. The Sindhi businessman types were taking the cake on the dint of money power. Whispering something to the girls they were plucking them from the dance floors and out of our sight.

The entertainment was simple. Racy hindi numbers blasting in full glory. The women dancing around each group of men. The game was about setting eye to eye contact with a customer and then the milking would commence. Every other time a waiter would be called by a willing goffer who would hand over a 100-500 currency to him. He would then return with bundles of 10 rupee denominations and toss around the chosen catch who would swirling around.

There was this nymphet who was incharge of our table. She tried her best to attract our attention with her facile moves and manoeuvres. But soon she realised the limitations. We were not to be milked. Her dancing became less facile and more inward. She now looked at the mirror and danced at herself. My folks took some drinks but I was unwilling to spend a penny. Later I took a Fanta at the astounding cost of Rs. 120 - my token of appreciation for the girl.

Initially when I decided to go the dance bar it was like going to the zoo - a human zoo. Living exhibits showcased - you pay you view. All of us are some kinds of voyeurs. My whole description of these dance bars might make the pseudo feminists (there are no feminists.. only the MCPs and the pseudo-feminists... the bra burner types.. ) squirm. The knives might be out. But the environment is as dehumanised as this.

For me the very existence of dance bars are a stark reminder of the realities of life. And Chandi Bar gave me a glimpse of the even starker behind-the-scene reality. Most of us have been brought up in a glass house environment. A middle class ethical family, a good schooling and a sacrificing set of parents. Slowly but surely we are repeating the act and creating our own sequel. We are rarely exposed to starkness - early in our life its our parents' protection and later its our own avoidance. Hence these kind of films or circumstances hit the gut.

The other day I was standing with June outside the chicken stall. A lady was giving me the looks (how can this fellow bring his 1 yr old to see all this.. should'nt infants be exposed to all kinds of niceties... the disney types, pink, light blue, flowers, polka dots etc..) I do agree that it was a pretty gory site for a 1yr old to partake. But doesnt June like chicken soup? Best part - June refused to come back. She had got an opportunity to see the colourful country chicken quacking and chirping beside the slain bland poultries.

But while I was inside the dance bar trying to avoid the gaze of the dancing girl the sensation was much akin to visiting a hospital or a burning ghat. All these places exposes stark facts of life - things that are inevitable and beyond control. It is a starkness we shouldnt mind. It helps us look inward. The world is God's idiot box. Remote in hand he surfs through all channels and laughs at us. What fools we are to take our roles so seriously sometimes.

The dance bars like the hospitals and burning ghats have a role in society. They are as much a basic necessity as the other two for social as well as economic reasons. As for the pseudo feminists there have films like "Oops" and the gay strippers. For once lets get out of the yin yan loop. There is everything for everyone. Live and let live.